The Werewolf of London
by Initial A
Summary: Emma hates mating season. But it does lead her to a chance encounter with a stranger named Killian Jones...


**Happy Halloween! Here's some werewolves. :D**

* * *

There'd been a semester back in eighth grade when Emma's science teacher went all in on biology. Punnett squares, doing some weird chemistry to be able to look at banana DNA under a microscope, chromosomes and the boys in the back of the room giggling when the teacher said "penis" while teaching them how babies were actually made, mitochondria, the whole nine yards.

At some point during all of this, Emma wondered how quickly Mrs. Sanson would lose her mind if she found out that most of these lessons genetically did not apply to one of her pupils.

"Sure wouldn't mind some human biology right about now," Emma mutters, pulling her jacket collar up further and making sure her scarf was snug around her neck as she quickened her pace.

She never got to be one of those girls she'd gone to school with, alternating between excited or confused or mortified when their impending womanhood snuck up on them without warning. Oh, no, Emma's mother had gone to great lengths to explain how differently wolfkind went from infancy to adolescence and finally maturity.

(Though really, all things considered, Emma rather thought she'd prefer surprise blood in her underpants than the sound of her bones grinding and shrieking in her skull as her body shifted on that first full moon, her own impending womanhood as traumatic as some of her unsuspecting schoolmates.)

See, in addition to this monthly shift from woman to wolf, her biology indicates that once a year she goes into heat, which is a really obnoxious way of saying "my body decides it's time to tell every male with a working nose in range that it's DTF." The worst of it is that her fertile time is never the same. Once a year, some random week between January and April, so she can't even plan accordingly to stay holed up in her apartment until it's over.

Because man, her whole existence as a humanoid female doesn't work so great around males, but the whole pheromone thing? Werewolves are ten times worse.

Happily, nothing else about her body changes at this time (some shapeshifters lose just about any ability to fight off unwanted attentions and Emma both pities them and is grateful that her own strength remains) so all she has to do is keep her skin as covered as possible and play least in sight for a few days.

Let the unattached males of Boston find other unattached females for mating season. Emma wants nothing to do with it.

She's rounding the corner at the end of her street, her building just in sight, when she feels the presence of other wolves before she sees them. Her steps quicken - she really doesn't feel like telling anyone to piss off tonight - and she nearly howls in frustration when she hears one of them say, "Something smells delicious."

 _Oh, fuck me sideways_ , Emma thinks, rolling her eyes and not slowing her pace. She knows that one, which means she probably knows the other two she feels as well; the Dorchester pack isn't as large as some of the other Boston packs, so unless someone's crossing territory lines, she's bound to know just about every unmated male in range.

This also means she's well within her rights to drag these idiots before the bosses if they give her any trouble.

"Aw, c'mon sweetheart, don't be shy! We don't bite!" She definitely recognizes that guy, he's sleazy on his best days.

"Not unless you ask!" The three men start laughing and Emma wishes it was a full moon so she could show them just how much _she_ bites, no questions asked.

She only stops to turn once she hits the streetlight, glaring them down. "Back off, morons. Go find some other bitch to rut, this one's not interested."

God, she _hates_ mating season.

The first guy steps a little closer, a grin on his face that makes her skin crawl. "It's early in the season, babe, you're probably the first bitch to bloom. Now c'mere, take off that scarf and let Johnny get a good whiff-"

But he doesn't get to finish, Emma's fist against his jaw rudely interrupting him. His head collides with the light pole, making the whole damn thing shake and sending the cone of light skittering around the street. "Huh. We really do have rock-hard heads. Or at least this one does." She looks up at his friends. "Care to test the hypothesis?"

One of them swears colorfully and they both at least have the decency to pick up their dazed friend before backtracking. Emma sighs, rankled and buzzing a bit on adrenaline and a little bit from her body picking up on three unattached males. Even now, she can smell their scents lingering in the air and she has to fight back every urge to _take, claim, mate_. This is _her_ decision, dammit, not biology and certainly not any mindless moron following his nose with his dick out.

She _hates_ mating season.

"Nice work there, love."

Her back stiffens. Four. Her body, keyed up and focused on pending danger from three other apex predators, had failed to pick up on the fourth coming from behind her - another male, another _unmated_ male.

 _He's upwind_ , she thinks with no small amount of gratitude. She turns, her body still feeling stiff even as she's buzzing on energy and feeling the urge to _run_ and _rut_ and God _dammit_ she hates mating season, and tries to get a good look at him, even as he stands just outside of the light. Though it's January, he's dressed similarly to her: peacoat, jeans, scarf, head left uncovered so she could see his dark hair, though even in the dim light she can tell his clothes are better made than hers. Wolves' body temperatures run high, even in human form, so things like gloves and hats and parkas aren't necessary, even on a freezing New England night in January.

He doesn't smell familiar, which matches the British accent; it takes a gust of wind for her to realize it, but she breathes deeply and tries to pick out his scent. The surface scent is almost like home, the smells of an old city, but this one has earthy undertones and… salt? Sea salt. And then there's his unique scent, the wolfscent that's different for every pack but still makes her think of fur and fangs and how it feels to sing with her packmates.

"You got permission to be here?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest and hoping the wind doesn't change. Her body _likes_ his scent, likes how it compliments her own so well - this is a city wolf, not some bigshot from the 'burbs who thinks he's hot shit - and she doesn't know how she'd respond if it turned out his body liked hers too.

He grins, slow and a little bit dangerous. "Your pack leaders are aware of my presence, yes."

"Good," she says, "because I've got places to be and I don't have time to get wrapped up in bureaucratic nonsense because some London wolf wants to slum it."

His laugh is barklike and it makes a smile pull at the corners of her lips. She squelches the urge to make him laugh again, make him grin in that dangerous way, make him do _anything_ because she needs to get home and stay there for the next couple of days. "I can assure you, a Camden lad like meself is hardly _slumming it_. Now, why don't I…"

His nostrils flare before Emma realizes the wind has shifted, whatever else he'd been planning to say fading as he realizes just what stands before him. He steps towards her and she moves a step back, looking up at his eyes to see how wide his pupils have become - only a thin ring of blue is left. "You should leave," he says quietly, a muscle in his jaw jumping.

Her first thought is, stupidly, that his body _does_ like hers. Her second is, idiotically, that she's not entirely opposed to that. But then she understands that he's holding himself in check, giving her an out, not giving in to the urges he's clearly feeling - or at least, the feelings she's also struggling with. "I should."

She steps around him quickly, hurrying the rest of the way to her apartment building and only looking back as she opens the door to the lobby, noting with interest that the wolf from Camden hasn't moved an inch - giving her another out by refusing to see where she's gone.

 _Interesting_.

* * *

The words have not yet been created to explain just how much she loathes mating season.

Emma had been able to camp out in her apartment for two days before she started to go a little stir-crazy. At first, her little, silicone, handheld friends had been able to soothe the itch stirred up in her blood by running into four unmated males. She'd been able to bliss herself out a few times into easy sleep. But after the second day, it got a little harder to reach that peak; the primal urge to mate with someone, not her toys, started to make her zone out as a particularly good daydream snuck up on her.

Her dreams that night were filled with the strange wolf, his husky voice in her ear as he fucked into her with abandon, and Emma woke with wetness pooling between her legs and no amount of pleasuring herself seemed to satisfy her.

The third day saw her running low on food; she'd made a mad dash to the convenience store around the corner for necessities and ordered a meat lover's pizza from a place she knew was run by a mated pair of wolves.

But as day four of her self-imposed confinement hits, she's going to start actually climbing the walls and roosting like a harpy if she doesn't get out of the four walls of her apartment.

Also her boss might kill her if she takes another sick day.

So she dig into the back of her closet, where she keeps her ridiculous fireproof safe, and pulls out her most precious treasure: her human charm.

It's not only the most expensive, most magical, and most useful possession she owns, it's also the possession that makes her sickest when she uses it too often. The charm, an inconspicuous shape that makes her eyes hurt if she looks at it for too long, hangs on a plain golden chain.

(The witch that sold it to her tried to go for silver, because it held magic the best, but Emma had had to give an impromptu Werewolf 101 lesson on why that was a terrible idea.)

It's a complicated piece of magic that's akin to someone throwing a blanket over her. Other wolves have trouble detecting her kinship to them, enough so that her cycle just smells like a normal human woman's time of the month. On the other hand, it restrains Emma's own abilities, making her feel like someone's shoved a pillow over her face and stuck plugs in her ears.

(In addition to, y'know, giving her a migraine and nausea all at once when she takes the charm off and all of her senses come back. The dull senses and how incapacitated she is after almost makes it not worth all the money she paid for the damn thing, but it's saved her skin a time or two. Nothing wrong with a little magical insurance in case of emergencies.)

So Emma shuffles and stumbles her way to work, a bail bonds company that doesn't know half its employees are werewolves. Unfortunately for her, none of her packmates are in management, so despite the knowing (pitying) looks Ruby gives her as she comes in the door, there's no sympathy from the bosses.

"Poor thing," Ruby says around lunchtime. She perches on the edge of the desk. "Nature's a real bitch, ain't it?"

Emma glances up wryly. "And what are we?"

Ruby grins, her teeth very white against the red of her lipstick. "Seriously, you need me to come over tonight, help you out a little?"

Thankfully, Ruby had closed the door when she came into Emma's little office. Emma chuckles. "You know, if I didn't want to deal with Dorothy's jealousy, I might've taken you up on that. But it wouldn't help, not much anyway."

"That better not be a knock on my skills."

"Fangs away, Ruby, you know I appreciate what you can do."

Ruby huffs anyway. "You better. But whatever, I know what you mean. Survival of the species or whatever. Fucking mating season, man."

"Fucking mating season," Emma agrees.

Ruby drums her nails on the desk. "You know, you could just use condoms. It's the twenty-first century, werewolves can use family planning too."

But Emma's already shaking her head. "No, the good ones still want to turn it into a pair bonding thing and the bad ones don't give a rat's ass, they just want to feel a real bitch in heat for once. It's not fair to the first guy and fuck the second guy with a cactus. So it's just easier to… not."

Just a few more days, and then she'll have peace.

Until next year.

Ruby just laughs as Emma groans and puts her head on the desk, likely guessing the source of her agony. "Come on, come out with me and Dorothy tonight. It's Friday! Keep the charm on, we'll get your mind off things for a few hours, then you can go home and wallow after. But you'll be drunk so you'll fall asleep faster."

Emma wrinkles her nose, thinking that she'll probably have more dreams about the Camden wolf, but agrees to a night out with her friends anyway. It's been a little while since she had some fun, maybe it'll help.

* * *

It does not help.

Though her senses are muffled, something in her still picks up on the males at the pack bar who are unattached. Normally, she'd be able to pick them out easily, to the exact number, but right now her caged wolf brain is telling her there are _a lot_ of unmated males in the area and they're _probably_ right behind her and she _really_ should just grab one and take him out back already.

"Not great?" Dorothy asks, handing her another whiskey sour.

Emma just shakes her head, downing half the glass in a single gulp. Which, y'know, probably isn't going to help her judgement later, but the charm doesn't work on her metabolism, so she'll be fine. Sort of.

The nice thing about Dorothy is that she _understands_. Ruby asks questions until the moon changes from new to full and back again, but Dorothy just figures out what someone needs and gives it to them. She's an action girl, something Emma can appreciate. And she can put back whiskey like a champ, so when Dorothy procures another whiskey sour for Emma before she's even drained the first one, Emma knows she's got someone who'll stick with her through the evening and keep her from making too many dumb decisions.

Around their fifth or sixth whiskey sours - Emma's lost count at this point and she's got a decent buzz that even her super metabolism can't shake that quickly - Ruby comes and drags Dorothy to the makeshift dance floor, claiming it's "their song" and they need to dance to it _right now_.

Ruby's never been one to take her mate's glares seriously.

Emma nurses her sixth (or seventh) drink, feeling a little vulnerable and open without the protective shield of Dorothy. Even without her senses telling her the numbers, there's a _lot_ of unmated males in here tonight. Mating season's only just beginning, so she expects this to be a regular sight over the next couple of months; she just wishes it could be a little less... biological.

Dull senses aside, humans seem to have the right of things when it comes to picking mates.

Still, there's an unfamiliar-familiar sense that puts her hackles up. She's not on the defensive, not yet, but as she twists in her seat a little to try and get a better look around the crowded bar, she wonders what she might do if the Camden wolf has, in fact, shown his face here tonight.

"Is this seat taken, love?"

Emma almost doesn't hear it over the noise of the music and the sound of chatter around her, but she turns and there he is, standing by Dorothy's empty bar stool and looking just as surprised to see her as she is of him. "What?" she asks, raising her voice to be heard over the din.

Unnecessarily so.

A few others turn to look, some of them seeming to wonder how a human got into a wolf bar, but the Camden wolf has a look on his face like he's trying to solve a Rubik's Cube. Then his nostrils flare and his eyes widen, eyebrow raising just a little as the answer comes to him. He takes Dorothy's seat and makes a motion to the bartender that he'll have whatever she's having, then leans in close so Emma can hear him better. "Pretty bit of magic you've got there, love. Hell of a hangover though, isn't it?"

She grins and raises her glass. "No worse than this."

As she downs the rest of it, the Camden wolf makes another motion - this time, the bartender brings Emma water. She pouts a little (God, she's definitely drunk if she's pouting, even at a handsome stranger) but takes a large sip of it anyway. He leans in, close enough to her ear that she feels the warm puffs of air tickle across her skin. "Trying things out the human way? Why not try a human bar?"

Emma rolls her eyes, then winces, having forgotten how well that doesn't work while even mildly intoxicated. "I'd've gotten cut off ages ago for one thing," she points out, "but I'm not. Friends just took me out to get me out of the apartment for a while. Going kinda nuts."

This close, even with her dulled senses, she can smell the leather of his jacket and his own unique musk. It's doing everything short of driving her insane and she squirms a little in her seat to quell the fire building between her legs. If the wolf notices, he doesn't say anything, just sticks out his hand. "Killian Jones."

"Emma Swan."

His hand is warm - warmer than it has a right to be - and rough, practically dwarfing her own hand. Her traitor brain pictures that hand on her body, fingers running over her breasts and down her belly, and wonders how those calloused fingers might feel as they slide through her core. Swallowing hard, Emma jerks her hand back, jamming both hands between her legs and squeezing them together, trying desperately to calm herself down. Killian's nostrils flare and there's a hint of a smirk on his face for a brief moment.

She tries not to blush. The charm hides her wolfscent, but nothing can hide the humanoid smell of arousal.

"I've never thought this was fair," he says idly, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "That the womenfolk have to go through this nonsense and all we blokes have to do is make ourselves available. The elders go on and on about how we're better than animals, that we're above our baser instincts, but we're really not."

"Preaching to the choir," Emma mutters, taking her glass and avoiding eye contact.

"How much longer do you have?" Killian asks, as if they were talking about the weather and not her uterus.

Something she really wanted to put a stop to before she did something rash.

"It's day four. Why are you here?" she asks, wincing a little at how tactless her question is.

He raises an eyebrow. "Is it time to get philosophical? I'll need a few more glasses of rum before we get to that level."

"You know what I mean."

He grins and it sends a jolt down her spine. "Just pulling your tail, Swan. I have business in Boston, that's all. The downtown packs are boring, flashy, and have far more expensive taste than I'm comfortable with, so I like to head out into the fringes of the city to relax after a long day of brokering deals. It's a bit more like home out here, makes me miss my own pack less."

She nods. It makes sense; it's not like she hasn't sought similar refuge when her bounty hunting has taken her out of the city.

A hand on her shoulder makes her jump, but it's just Ruby. "Everything alright here?" she asks and Emma can hear the suspicion in her friend's voice.

"We're fine, Ruby. This is Killian, he's from England."

He flashes his charming smile and Ruby's hand on her shoulder tightens briefly. "Just keeping your friend company. We met briefly the other night. Did you know she's able to knock a man half dead with one punch?"

"Judging by how you're both upright and drinking, I'm gonna assume that wasn't you," Ruby says.

Killian waves her off. "No. I was about to step in to assist, but her three would-be assailants had a good idea for once and fled. Your pack leaders must be getting lax if a lady wolf can't even walk home in peace."

There'd been some stirring amongst the younger males, talk of overthrowing the current alphas, but if Emma ever were to bring it up she knows her Uncle James would just laugh. Still, it's a good point and she'll try to mention it to Aunt Jack. "It's not like there aren't troublemakers in every pack," Emma says, taking another sip of water. Her head's starting to clear.

She can practically feel Ruby rolling her eyes, even before her hand slips away. "If you two are gonna talk pack politics, I'm going back to dance. Nice meeting you, Killian."

"Likewise."

Ruby squeezes Emma's arm briefly, reassuring her that she and Dorothy won't be too far away. Soon, Emma finds herself discussing the differences in pack politics from their respective countries. Killian is a good conversationalist, she soon discovers; he's knowledgable but also inquisitive, never making her feel like she's stupid if she doesn't know something. And he's also good about making sure she gets food to go with the water.

"I'm just going to puke this up later," she warns, even as her mouth waters at the sight of the burger coming her way.

"Your head will thank me anyway, Swan."

He even steals some of her onion rings, something that would normally be a punchable offense, but right now Emma doesn't actually mind.

In fact, when Ruby and Dorothy come over to ask if she's ready to go home, Emma agrees when Killian asks if he can walk with them.

"Wait, so you're telling me there's a _cure_ for this?" Emma asks as they walk towards her side of town.

Killian laughs and he looks good, his head thrown back and the long line of his throat exposed. It started snowing earlier and there's a few flakes of it in his dark hair, not too many before his body heat causes them to melt, but enough to make them blend in. "I can't believe the witch never told you how to fix the hangover."

"I can," Ruby and Dorothy chorus, then they smile at each other.

"Seriously though, if Emma really did have to drill home why she couldn't buy silver, that witch probably held back out of spite," Dorothy adds.

"That's malpractice," Killian says, still looking amused but a bit stunned at the notion.

Ruby laughs this time, sounding more like a hyena than a wolf masquerading as a woman. "You clearly have never crossed Emma. Her bite's worse than her bark."

"I'm _right here_ , you know."

"We know, hon."

She scowls and Killian makes a noise like he's trying not to laugh again. "Well, I'll share what I know and maybe you won't be so miserable come morning."

After a short rant about the proper sharing and distribution of magic to non-magical beings, he fills her in on what turns out to be a rather simple potion. Most of the recipe seems to be the normal range of herbs that one would use for cooking, and Killian promises that if she drinks the potion first thing in the morning she'll start to feel less like the world is crushing her with noise and light and smells within the hour.

"I'll keep you posted, thanks," Emma says when they stop at her building. Killian looks more than a little pleased, and a little hopeful, that she's allowed him to know where she lives; hell, she figures he'd been a decent enough guy the other night so there's not much harm in it, especially when she's made it fairly clear how little she wants it known she's in heat.

Even though he's not pack, she feels a kind of connection with this outsider.

"Anytime, Swan. See you around," he says, following Ruby and Dorothy as they head out.

Emma waves, lingering at the door for a moment as she watches their retreating backs.

She absolutely does not suck in a breath when Killian looks back at her over his shoulder.

* * *

She's miserable.

She's thrown up twice already, her upstairs neighbor must be fucking _tap-dancing_ up there, or doing deadlifts with fifty-pound weights, or _something_ unnatural because no normal human should make that much noise moving around in their apartment. (She'd pardon them if they were a centaur or something, but no, she's checked; she's the only non-human in the building.) She's lucky she remembered to pull down her blackout blinds before going to bed or else the light would be unbearable, but there's still some light making its way through the slits in the sides.

And now someone is trying to break down her front door with a battering ram.

They have to be. No one knocks that loud.

Squinting and stumbling, one hand bracing herself on the wall and the other covering one of her poor ears, Emma goes to answer it. _Never again_ , she swears. She's never using the charm again. Or mixing it with alcohol. Or both. Probably both.

It's Killian.

"Bloody hell, Swan, what happened?" he asks, not waiting for an invitation but striding in as soon as he sees she looks like she was mauled by a bear and drank the Devil's own wine last night.

"Rosemary," she mumbles, trying and failing not to slam the door behind her.

"Rosemary?"

"I don't have any rosemary," she whispers, hardly caring she's only in the shirt and underpants that count as her pajamas and going to curl up on the couch.

She puts her head under a pillow and throws a blanket on for good measure, but it hardly helps. Especially now that she can properly smell him again and it's _nauseating_ how good he smells. Her body is at war with itself, her libido urging her to throw Killian to the floor and have her way with him, or alternately running to the bathroom to be sick again and then burying herself in a sensory-deprivation room until she doesn't feel like dying anymore.

Honestly, death is preferable to either of these two choices right now.

Killian stomps over to where she is and she hears the seams of his jeans screaming in protest as he crouches - alright, he probably walks over and the fabric just rustles, but that's not what she hears. "Is that the only piece missing, Emma?"

His voice is soft and Emma mumbles a "yes". God, her breathing is so loud. And her pulse. Who the hell gets anything done when their body is so fucking loud?

"Where are your keys?"

They're in a little dish on the counter and he grabs them before leaving; she hears him locking up behind himself and she appreciates it - not that she couldn't fight off anyone who tried to break in on a Saturday morning, but honestly she'd probably throw up on them instead of punching them in the face.

Speaking of…

When she hears Killian return, she's curled up in the darkened bathroom, hoping she doesn't have to hurl again because she's pretty sure there's nothing left in her stomach. He putters around in the kitchen, opening and slamming (closing) cupboards, and even the spoon swirling in the mug is obnoxious right now.

And forget the microwave. Emma sticks her fingers in her ears but she can't fully block out the sound of gears twirling and clicking and the fans whirling.

Thank God he stops it before the timer shrieks its end.

He's shuffling down the hall now, softly letting her know he's coming in. _He probably smells me_ , she thinks, shutting her eyes against the light from the hallway. It's probably how he figured out which apartment was hers, too, come to think of it.

"Here, Emma, can you sit up?" He's still whispering and she's grateful for it as she shakily sits up. He presses the mug into her hands. "Now, drink the whole thing." She puts the warm mug to her lips and drinks - "No, don't spit it out, it's supposed to be nasty. The nasty ones work best." - and fights the urge to dump the whole mug down the drain. Instead, she drinks it all as quickly as she can, trying her best to block out the vile assault on her tongue of flavors that absolutely should never be mixed together.

"I might puke again," she whispers as he takes the mug from her.

"No, you won't," Killian reassures her. "The ginger takes care of that, just give it a minute."

He's right, it turns out. After a few minutes, her stomach settles and the nausea fades; her senses are still overwhelming, but she feels a little better knowing she's not going to need to stay in the bathroom for the rest of the day. "Ugh, that tasted awful," Emma says, getting to her feet shakily. She seriously needs to brush her teeth, get the nasty taste out of her mouth. And her puke-breath, which thankfully Killian hasn't complained about.

"As I said, love, witches make their best work the nastiest." She chuckles, even as she starts vigorously brushing her teeth. "Personally, I think they experiment so much with different herbs that they just become immune to the various tastes."

She spits and rinses, patting her face dry when she's done. "Or they just add that as an extra insurance; people remember it tastes gross so they think twice before bothering their local hermits."

Killian insists she go back to her nest on the couch while he cleans up the mess he made in her kitchen. As she listens to him cleaning up - hell, he even washes the mug she used, _by hand_ \- she slowly realizes it becomes more bearable to hear things. Her neighbor is still a bit loud, but no louder than they usually are. Peeking out from under the pillow, she sighs with relief when the light doesn't bother her more than if she'd just woken up. And her nose -

Well, Killian's scent is all over the apartment at this point, and that's causing a different kind of problem.

It's something he seems to realize too, just as she's getting up from her couch nest.

He watches her warily, keeping himself in the hall and thus a respectable distance between them. "Are you feeling alright now, Emma?"

Though he's said it a few times by now, the way he says her name makes a shiver roll down her spine. "Yes," she says, fingers curling in the hem of her shirt and pulling it down a little, "and no."

She hears him swallow, watches the way his Adam's apple bobs. Hears him inhale, sees his nostrils flare.

"Emma -"

"Killian, wait," she says, taking a step back to put a little more space between them.

There's not enough space in this goddamn apartment to stop what's going to happen. If she doesn't stop it first.

"I don't - there's a lot -" She growls, mostly at herself, a little at this situation, then hits him with the direct question. "Have you ever fucked a bitch in heat?"

Killian's eyebrow goes up. "No."

"So you don't know what an ordeal it is?"

"I've heard tales, but never experienced it firsthand."

She swallows hard. "It's - it's a process. It's a lot. And you said the other day that it's not fair, and that doesn't cover the half of it. If you don't walk out that door, we're going to fuck. A lot. Like, you won't realize your body can do that much. It's exhausting. And you're - a lot of males want to turn it into this _thing_ , make pair bonds, and I - I can't - it's a lot. And some males don't, obviously, but they just want to fuck and make pups and leave, and I can't whelp a litter right now. I can't. Not after the last one." She's looking everywhere but his face and she knows she's babbling and not really explaining this, but she needs him to understand why she's been hiding herself away. "I lost my last litter and the male who said he'd stay didn't, he broke the bond and I can't do that again. I _can't_. But it's - it's so much sex, it's - you need to leave, right now, because my body _really_ likes yours and this has been a long week and I'm on the worst edge of my life right now and -"

"Emma."

She looks at him, falling silent at the look on his face. He's looking at her like he _understands_ , and it's making what little resolve she has left crumble into little pieces. He takes one step towards her, then another, slowly crossing the room until he's right in front of her, carefully bracketing her shoulders with his hands - oh.

She hadn't noticed before now that his left hand wasn't a hand at all - at least, not one of flesh and bone. "How -?" She stops, not sure how her question would really end. A prosthetic isn't unusual, just not an everyday thing, particularly for wolfkind and their rapid healing abilities.

"A few words of wisdom, love," Killian says softly. "I don't suggest challenging an alpha for his mate."

Emma looks up at him, startled, then understands the look on his face.

He knows what it's like to lose everything you thought you had.

He's still got his coat on, the weirdo, and it makes everything so much easier when she grabs his lapels and drags him down into a kiss. He makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat, one that morphs into a groan as she presses her body against his and moves one hand to the back of his head. His fingers slip into her hair, twisting themselves around and tugging in a way that sends pleasure zipping down her body.

It takes literally everything in her not to howl in victory.

"I have condoms," she says, breathless, when they part.

"I won't make you do anything you don't want to," he promises. "No bonds, no pups, not even sex -"

"If we aren't fucking in ten minutes then I swear to Christ I will beat the fur off you on the next full moon -"

He picks her up as if she weighs no less than a doll, throwing her over his shoulder like a goddamn caveman and _fuck_ if that doesn't do something wonderful to her insides. He does sort of drop her onto the bed and she laughs as she bounces on the mattress. Killian snaps up the blinds, showering her in sunlight and making her squint to watch him shed his coat and strip off his shirt. Emma runs her tongue along her lips as he works off his boots and jeans, admiring his toned body and the dark hair covering his chest. And yes, she's delighted to note, there's definitely treasure at the end of that happy trail.

"I love hairy men," she confesses as he climbs up on the bed with her.

"Good thing you're a werewolf then," he counters. "Condom?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Getting right to it?"

"Take the edge off a little," he says with a wink, "then we'll have some fun after."

She sits up fully, stripping off her shirt and tossing it onto the floor. Another shiver runs up her spine as his hand traces a path down her spine, the callouses on his fingers feeling as good on her skin as she'd imagined. He doesn't try anything too untoward, just runs his hand along her back like he's mapping it out by touch alone, and Emma has to tell herself to focus enough to grab a roll of condoms from her bedside stand. "Trust me," she says when he looks like he's about to tease her, "we're going to need all of these."

"I look forward to it," Killian murmurs, and hooks a finger into the side of her panties.

She lifts her hips, shimmying a little to help him get them off and he tosses them into a corner, leaving them both bare on the bed. She aches with want, with need, and her hands tremble as she rips open one of the foil packets and hands him the condom.

"On your knees," he tells her, patting her thigh. "If we're going to do this like animals, might as well look the part."

Emma rolls her eyes, but does as he says. Her wolf brain approves of this, warmth pulsing between her thighs and she feels another trickle of wetness there, her body more than ready for him.

His hands are on her hips as he lines himself up behind her, then one presses down between her shoulder blades, guiding her to lean down on her elbows. "There's a girl, look at that," Killian murmurs, running his hand down her back and resting on her flank. "All wet and needy - bloody _hell_ , you smell incredible."

She feels his cock press against her entrance and almost sobs with relief. She's been on edge for days, not even her toys could help her at this point, and she does the only thing she can think to do right now: she pushes her hips back, taking his tip in, and cries out in relief at being filled even just this much. Killian gasps at the sudden motion, then she feels him pushing, pushing, pushing forward until he's fully sheathed inside her.

She snarls, losing her grip on her humanity, and Killian seems to respond in kind, growling as he pulls almost all the way out and then slams back home.

" _Fuck_ , just like that," she bites out. "Hard and fast."

He obeys her command, repeating the motion again and again until Emma's coming - it would be embarrassing how quickly he's gotten her to come, he's hardly touched her after all, but she's had nothing but her hands and her toys for five days and her body is aching for the relief this man is willing to provide.

It's all kind of a blur after that.

At some point, Killian pulls her back up on her hands, half-draping himself over her as he fucks into her with wild abandon. She knows there's teeth marks all over her shoulders and even some of her back, and while she loves this - loves the way he doesn't treat her like glass, giving her exactly what she needs without her even asking for it - the wolf in her wants to bite back, mark him just as he's marking her, fucking, biting, _claiming_.

 _Next time_ , she tells herself, because this is only the first of a very long couple of days ahead.

The next time she comes, he falls a few thrusts behind her, groaning low in his throat as he rides it out inside her. Emma lets herself fall against her pillow, whimpering as his cock leaves her, but logically she knows he'll be inside her again soon enough. Right now, her body is primed and ready pretty much constantly; it's his refractory period they have to worry about.

Well, and staying fed. And occasionally sleeping. But mostly the refractory period.

He's in her den now, laired up until her cycle has passed; she's had a taste of him, liked it, and hell if she doesn't want to devour the whole of him.

They take turns in the bathroom, then crawl back into her bed together. She doesn't cuddle up next to him and he doesn't seem to mind, propping his head up on his arm while she cuddles her pillow instead. His hair's sticking up in a few places it wasn't this morning, from his own hand, and as he watches her with curious amusement, Emma decides that next time it'll be her hands that fuck up his hair.

There's an openness that happens after sex, sometimes. It's something that's freaked her out a little in the past, this desire to open up after laying yourself out bare for someone, but it doesn't scare her so much with Killian. "Tell me to shut up if you don't want to talk about it, but what happened with the alpha you challenged?" she asks quietly.

And maybe he can smell the little bit of fear that spikes when she ventures her question, or maybe he's actually okay with talking about it, but he tells her about a wolf he loved once, a long time ago, a woman named Milah, and her mate that had taken both his hand (paw) and his rights as a member of the pack. "I was a young, stupid pup," Killian tells her with a sigh. "I was lucky that all I lost was a hand and got cast out, luckier to be adopted into another pack."

His nose twitches and he looks at her with a raised eyebrow, smelling the nervous spike in her emotions at the word 'adopted'. "I... got adopted too," Emma says quietly. "I was sixteen when my parents were challenged for the North End pack. They lost, Regina cast me out as a threat to her claim. I was lucky, my dad's twin had just won a challenge for the Dorchester pack. So Uncle James and Aunt Jack took me in."

"No wonder you trounced me in our discussion last night," Killian says and Emma laughs a little, grateful for the reprieve from grim memories.

"Yeah, well, when you're in the center of it, you learn pretty quickly. I'm happy here, though, more often than not. I think that's all that matters in the end - well, that's what Mom always said, anyway."

Killian hums in agreement, and moves to close the gap between them. He nuzzles her nose with his, bumping their foreheads together. "I'm sorry about your family," he says quietly, and there's no pity there, only sincerity.

He _understands_.

Emma kisses him again.

It's soft and slow this time, a careful exploration of mouths and tongues and teeth. He quickly learns that nipping her lower lip makes her roll her hips into his, seeking friction, and he slides his leg between hers. He nips her again and Emma grinds her core down on his thigh, moaning at the warmth shooting up her body and leaving her brain in a lusty fog. Emma's tongue sweeps into his mouth, tracing teeth - _canines definitely longer than normal, definitely gonna make a vampire joke later_ \- and tangling her tongue with his.

His hand slides down the side of her body, fingers grazing the side of her breast and even that little tease makes her nipples firm right up into points. She touches him wherever she can, her nails scratching through the stubble on his jaw and then up to brush some of his hair behind his ears - and she's _absolutely_ going to tease him later about the way his leg kicked out involuntarily when her fingers grazed the shell of his ear.

Though she's also going to thank him for it, the way his thigh jerked against her core only heightened her arousal.

Gripping the hair at the base of his neck, she angles his head to deepen the kiss, nipping him playfully and enjoying both his groans and the spicy spike in his scent: definitely aroused again, definitely getting close to round two. He ruts his hips up, grinding his thigh in her center, then rolls them so that he's laying across her. "Tell me if I do something you don't like," he orders her, then ducks his head to kiss and nibble his way down her neck.

It reminds her of her own desire to bite him, and she eyes the thick cords of his neck, envisioning her teeth marks standing starkly out against them.

"Never play poker with our kind, love, the speed at which your scent changes is marvelous."

There's a retort at the tip of her tongue, but she swallows it the second his mouth closes over her nipple. She's grateful for his thigh, still between her legs, for the sinful things he's doing with his tongue against her skin sets her blood on fire. She rubs herself shamelessly against him, trying to take the edge off and only throwing gasoline on that raging bonfire.

She drags her fingers through his hair, following up on her promise to herself to ruin it, and finds that he likes it when she tugs on it. His sharp inhales every time her nails scrape his scalp coincide with him sucking on her skin harder and the heady combination of their arousal makes her head spin. She ruts her center against his thigh harder, sure she's leaving wetness streaked all over his skin, but he doesn't seem to mind - he only switches his attentions to her other breast, his hand rubbing and squeezing her body while his prosthetic cups and massages her free breast.

"You smell delicious," he murmurs, releasing her nipple with a pop and licking his way down her stomach. "I don't think I've ever smelled a woman more appetizing-"

He bites playfully at her mound and she squirms with anticipation - his movements have left her with no friction and her clit is aching to be touched. He ducks his head, nosing at her curls, and she hears him inhale deeply. "Exquisite," Killian says, then Emma can't hear anything more than her own cries as he runs his tongue up the length of her slit.

She feels him part her core with his fingers and his tongue delivers an absolutely wicked assault on her body. Up and down, dragging circles and circles around her clit before sucking it into his mouth, Emma's pretty sure her bones are dissolving by the time he slides his tongue inside of her. He laps at her core like a man starved, drinking her in and moaning all the while at her taste; she feels his fingers teasing around her clit, bringing her closer and closer to the edge, and-

Emma's back bows off the bed as she shatters, his name like a prayer on her lips as he presses his arm against her hips to try and keep her as still as possible while he gently brings her down with his tongue and fingers.

She tastes herself on his lips when he crawls back up her body, kissing her soundly and murmuring praises against her lips. She feels his cock, hard and heavy, laying against her thigh and fumbles for another condom. "I need you," she whispers, her fingers finding another foil packet.

He takes it from her and rips it open with his teeth, making quick work of putting the condom on. Her sex is swollen and sensitive still and she can't help the moan that escapes her when the tip of his cock nudges her entrance. She brings her leg up and over his hip to give him better access, and far, far too slowly for her liking, he sinks inside her to the hilt.

"You're still all a-flutter," Killian says with a groan, burying his face against her neck.

"Don't get cocky about it," she retorts, though it really had been one of the best orgasms she'd ever had.

"I thought the whole point of this was to be cocky."

Emma gently grips the hair at the back of his neck and guides him up to look at her. "Shut up and fuck me," she orders, and he laughs.

As he starts to move, Emma kisses and bites her way down his jaw. She nibbles on his earlobe briefly and it makes him jerk his leg again; she whispers something about instincts and belly rubs and Killian growls, thrusting particularly hard and making her forget all about how the English language works for a few minutes while he works her up again.

When she regains somewhat coherent thought, she sinks her teeth into the juncture of his neck.

He lifts her other leg up over his hip, encouraging her to cross her ankles together and oh that feels good. It deepens the angle, letting his cock slide in further as he rides her. Her whole body feels like a live wire, like every nerve is exposed, and every slide of his cock in and out of her body feels so, so good. Her toes curl and she leaves more bite marks along his shoulders, loving the way he whines and growls with every mark she leaves on his skin. When she bites his earlobe, he snarls, whatever is left of his control snapping and he presses his body hard against hers and fucks her roughly into the mattress. She loves the way his chest hair feels against her breasts and clings to him for the ride, unable to say anything more than " _Yes_ " and "Oh God, _Killian_ " until finally she screams her release, her orgasm hitting her hard as her walls grip and ripple around his thick cock.

In the aftermath, she finds she doesn't want to unwrap herself from around his body, no matter how sweaty and sticky they are, and no matter how badly they should probably change the sheets.

 _No,_ she thinks drowsily, _this is good. Just like this... just stay like this..._

* * *

It's a long weekend of sex and sleeping, with the occasional break to learn that Killian can actually cook some fairly decent meals from the poor excuse of a pantry Emma keeps. They talk, too, slowly opening up to each other about themselves; she figures it's a fair enough trade, learning a little more about each other while she has him, for all intents and purposes, trapped in her sex den until her cycle is over.

He tells her about his brother - well, that's more on accident, after Liam calls several times while they're running up her water bill by fucking in the shower. Killian and Liam work together, hence the business trip, and hence Liam's irritated amusement about why Killian has to cancel his meetings for Monday.

She tells him about her parents, about Ruby and Dorothy, about being a bounty hunter and why it's _not_ cheating to hunt down criminals when you're an apex predator.

Sometimes these discussions happen while Emma's on top of him, drawing out their orgasms by slowly undulating her hips over his cock.

Sometimes Killian loses his patience with her teasing and flips her over and ruts into her until they're both sweaty and satiated and need another shower and a nap.

It's a good weekend, and on Tuesday when Emma wakes up and feels nothing but the soreness from the workout she's put her body through over the last few days, she's actually kind of disappointed.

"Thank you," Emma says over breakfast; he needs to get back to his hotel and change for his meetings, but she figures the least she can do is send him off well-fed and caffeinated. "Really, this was... this was a lot. And I appreciate it, you didn't have to-"

He cuts her off by leaning over and kissing her again, soft and sweet. "There's nothing to thank me for, sweet. Believe me when I say the pleasure was entirely mine."

She giggles, actually giggles, and reaches for the coffee pot.

* * *

The first full moon of summer is her favorite. The wind is sweet with nature in full bloom and ruffles her fur with warmth. There's new wolves learning how to track and hunt, learning pack songs and how to fight and play in this new shape. The night sounds of the city fade as the pack runs for the woods and there's truly, really, nothing more wonderful than running with her pack.

She's off on her own, tracking a rabbit buck for her dinner, when she hears an unfamiliar wolf's call. She lifts her head and searches for its source, heading west when she picks up a scent. The wolf calls again and she starts to trot, calling back. The human part of her brain wonders… the scent's a bit too far to clearly recognize, but where the call is unfamiliar, the scent is not.

It can't be.

She yips another question and hears a howl in response, and her trot turns into a full run.

The woods are dark, so he doesn't stand out - her white fur stands out, but as he runs for her she can see the moonlight glinting silver off his black fur, and his eyes shine. She tackles him, biting the thick fur of his neck playfully as they roll around in the litter of the forest. He nips at her in return and she takes off running, gleeful at their reunion and the thrill of spending the night hunting and roaming free. He chases her, biting at her heels and tail and the few other wolves from her pack watch her with curious interest when they speed by.

The fact that he's down to three paws doesn't hinder him, and they snuff out three rabbits for their dinner together, the best hunting she's done in months.

She leads him back into town when the sky turns pearly with pre-dawn light. They make it to the alley near her building as the sun crests the horizon and their bodies shift, fur turning back into hair and paws reshaping to hands and feet. He kisses her as soon as their faces are human again and Emma throws her arms around Killian's neck. He lifts her legs up and she gladly complies, wrapping them around his waist as he presses her against the brick wall. "You came back," she gasps when they come up for air, and then doesn't give him any time to respond by kissing him senseless again.

She doesn't know how they make it up to her apartment, but she's grateful for it, because kissing him on her bed is far more comfortable to kissing him against the brick wall of her building.

"Why did you come back?" she asks later, tracing the line of his jaw with her fingers.

They haven't even removed any of their clothes, just their shoes, and she's just as content to stay wrapped up in him while clothed as she was six months ago while naked. Killian moves his head a little, just enough to kiss the pads of her fingers. "I couldn't stop thinking about you," he admits quietly. "I thought of you every day while we were apart and it… it was a lot."

She chuckles at his parroting of her words.

"Liam finally told me I was being daft and told me to come here, see if it really meant something, even… even after all this time."

She meets his eyes and knows, _understands_ , the nervousness in his voice, in his eyes. "I thought of you every day, too," she admits quietly. "I always wondered, but… I guess I was too scared to try and seek you out."

Killian kisses her again, soft and sweet, just like it had been the last time he kissed her. "I won't ask of you anything you don't want," he says quietly, "but Liam thinks it's a good idea to start a branch of our offices here in Boston. I'll be here some time, getting things sorted."

Emma kisses him, hard and swift, her hand raking through his hair. He growls against her and she feels it more than she hears it, a low vibration thrumming up through his body and into hers. "I'd like that," she says. "Getting to see you more, I mean. We can… I don't know, we can see how things go?"

He grins, and it softens him. "I'd like that very much, love."

* * *

Emma's not so miserable, this mating season. For one thing, she's got a very willing mate at her beck and call. He only pretends to grumble when she wakes him up with her lips around his cock, replacing them with her sex when he's awake enough to order her on top of him.

For another, she finds out - remembers, really - that all that heat, all that drive to fuck until she can't see straight? It goes away as soon as Killian gets her pregnant.


End file.
